Acquiesce
by Lass Cherrie
Summary: LEMON / It's her birthday. And she's drunk. And she's kissing him in a way that should be highly illegal. Giving in to her can only lead to trouble. Big trouble. Big, Masaya trouble. But he's never wanted anything so much in his life... R/I


**Jan 17, 2012.**

**Hi, reader.**

This one-shot, hands-down, is my all-time favourite. I've never been so connected to the two characters, and never been sucked so entirely into their story. Some background info: After a discussion on the Forum between myself and a good friend who had been lamenting his lack of love-life, he admitted he'd taken to writing lemons to console himself. I myself had never written one, but then turned my attention to pre-existing lemons, and was irritated by how inexperienced the authors seemed to be. The large majority of lemons on FF net are, sadly, literary porn written by the sex-deprived youth. So I set about to right a few wrongs, and this was the result.

Thanks to all who read and reviewed.

Anyone reading now: Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I did not (and do not) own Tokyo Mew Mew.

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**Acquiesce**

Written: May, 2009.

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His lips were firm, her kiss was soft.

She couldn't exactly remember why she'd stumbled her way up the stairs to his room. She was sure she had the intention of speaking with him; probably because he'd vanished from the huge gathering of people down in the dining room, and had escaped to his bedroom, withdrawing back into his antisocial self, as usual.

She'd rapped sharply on his door, her fingers gripping the frame so hard her knuckles were white from the strain. But if she hadn't held on to something, she'd have fallen over; she was so intoxicated.

He'd pulled the door open in surprise, obviously not thinking anyone would actually realise he was up there, and had stared at her in astonishment.

"What are you–?"

"Shh!" she'd slurred, letting go of the frame to push him into the room. He'd complied, more out of shock than conscious consent, she was sure, and had quickly shut the door behind her, glancing out into the dim hall to see if anyone was with her. Then he'd turned to her, his eyes momentarily alarmed. When he'd caught sight of her, flopped down on the edge of his bed with her arms hanging limply between her knees and her head cocked to one side, he'd smirked at her, raising one eyebrow and shoving his hands in his pockets.

"What are you doing, baka?" he'd asked, enjoying this uncharacteristic personality of her, swaying on the spot. She'd grinned up at him childishly, hiccupped sharply, and dragged herself to her feet.

But of course, she'd underestimated the hindrance to her stability, and had toppled forward before she could make a conscious effort to stand up straight.

"Woah – woah," he'd said sharply, catching her and grunting as he held her upright. "How much have you had to drink, Momomiya?"

She'd shrugged lazily, smiling into his shoulder.

"Here, sit down," he'd suggested, pressing on her shoulders to guide her backwards. She'd dug her heels into the floor, pushing against his chest to pull away from him.

"No!"

"But–"

"I don't – _hic_ – wanna sit down!" she'd protested, glaring up at him defiantly. He'd raised one eyebrow again, trying to hide his smirk. They'd stared at each other for a few moments, his hands still gently clasping her arms to hold her steady.

Then, without pausing to even think about it, she'd rolled up onto her wobbly tip-toes and pressed her lips to his.

His lips were firm, her kiss was soft.

He gently prised her face from his, putting some distance between them. She opened her eyes, surprised, and blinked up at him in confusion.

"Ichigo... You're drunk," he said, smirking widely at her now. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? Do you even know who you're talking to?"

"Yes!" she replied, pulling a face. "You're baka Shirogane, silly! Do _you _know who _you're _talking to?"

She giggled, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Alright. You need some water. Now," he said firmly, trying to pull her arms away. She squeezed tighter in response.

"I don't want water."

"What _do _you want, then, baka?" he sighed, still trying to extract himself from her hug, and failing quite tremendously. He gave up and let his arms drop.

"I. Want. You!" she sang cheerfully. He froze.

"No, you want _affection_," he muttered, pulling at her arms more determinedly now. When she didn't let go, he began dragging her towards the door. She giggled, like it was a game, pulling him back with all her weight when he reached for the handle.

"Ichigo, stop it!" he snapped, losing his patience. She laughed. But she'd loosened her grip on his waist when she'd pulled at him, and he twisted around, grabbing her hands before she could vice-grip him again.

"Why are you so grumpy, Shirogane?" she pouted, her eyebrows pulling down over her chocolate eyes. She suddenly grinned impishly. "Because you're – _hic _– always grumpy! Duh!"

He sighed, massaging his temples. He ran one hand through his blonde hair; the other gripped her hands together tightly, where they couldn't cause trouble.

"You know, you're really dangerous when you've had alcohol," he informed her, shooting her a disapproving look. She smiled childishly at him, her eyes sparkling, and he rolled his eyes, unable to stop the small smile that touched his lips.

"Am I?" she asked, clearly delighted. He laughed before he could stop himself, and she took the chance to wrench her arms free. Caught off guard, he didn't even have a chance to respond before she had forced him backwards, herding him up against the closed door with surprising speed for someone as alcoholically-impaired as she was.

"Yes," he scowled down at her. "You're pretty cunning, actually."

She pressed up closer to him, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his lips. His heart jerked, his stomach twisted violently. Half of him wanted to grab her and push her away. The other half wanted to twist its fingers in her messy red hair and pull her closer. As the Angel Ryou and Devil Ryou played a game of tug-of-war in his conscience, she moved closer still, brushing her nose against his.

"Really?" she whispered. Her breath smelled of something sweet, and very strong. It was messing with his mind. He tried to pull his thoughts together; tried to kick his sense into gear. He blinked several times and forced his gaze away from her.

"Ichi–" Her mouth enveloped his before he could finish. He caved weakly, moulding his lips to hers, returning her kiss gently. Her hands slid up the front of his cotton shirt, settling themselves around his neck so she could pull herself up closer to him; so she could kiss him more definitely. His arms found her waist, and he wrapped them around her, pressing her flush against him.

His heart hammered in his chest; he could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. Hers, too, throbbed wildly – he could feel it fluttering against his skin beneath the fabric of their clothes. Her breath was hot in his mouth; her tongue flicked his tantalisingly, playfully.

His previously misplaced sense decided to kick in right then.

Gathering all of his inner strength, he gently pushed her away. She wasn't offended this time; she let him break the kiss but stayed firmly pressed against him, unhooking her arms from around his neck and trailing them down his chest, around his back, gluing herself to him.

"Ichigo." He had to swallow before he could speak properly. His chest rose and fell heavily – he was breathless. He closed his eyes and focused on calming his breathing before he continued. "He'll be here tomorrow... _Tomorrow_. You don't want this; you're making a huge mistake. Don't screw it up just because you're drunk. You should get back to your party..."

She wasn't listening to him, or, if she was, she showed no signs of paying any attention to what he was saying. She pressed her lips gently against his jaw, trailing petal-soft kisses all the way along it, and down his neck. He inhaled sharply, closing his hands around her shoulders in preparation to push her away.

But he couldn't do it. Her mouth was so gentle against his skin, so _encouraging_, damnit! Grimacing to himself, he slid his hands down her back, hugging her tightly. He shifted his weight against the uncomfortable door, and one of his knees slid between her legs.

_Damnit, damnit, damnit!_

She was going to ruin everything with Aoyama. _He _was going to ruin everything with Aoyama. They were going to wreck their friendship – if you could call it that – and damage the Mew team. The results from this would be catastrophic.

"No – no, Ichigo. _Stop._"

She planted kisses all over his neck, making her way up his cheek towards his mouth. She paused for a moment, listening with satisfaction to the frantic pulsing of his heart, and very, very slowly, kissed the corner of his lips lightly. She drew back after a long second, gazing daringly up at him.

Her head was spinning comfortably, the alcohol was simmering pleasantly in her stomach, and his lips were very, very irresistible. Why was he fighting her so much? She knew as well as anyone in the cafe did that he was in love with her. They'd all known for years. Surely this was what he wanted, what he'd fantasised about, all this time...

"You stop it," she murmured grumpily. His bright azure eyes held hers for a moment, flashing quickly, portraying some of his inner turmoil. In the next instant, he'd grabbed her face in his hands and was kissing her urgently, all concern thrown to the wind.

His breath was hot against her cheeks, coming in shallow streams from his nose. He devoured her mouth hungrily, one thumb stroking her jaw in short, fluid motions. She grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt and pulled him away from the door. Her fingers worked clumsily at his buttons, and when he realised what it was she was trying to do, he removed his hands from her cheeks and undid them for her.

She pushed his shirt back from his shoulders and pulled it from his body, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. Her fingers traced the planes of his chest, followed the definition of his muscles. His skin was warm and firm beneath her fingertips, and he smelled delicious. She couldn't place the scent of his cologne, but it was as attractive to her as honey was to bees; it made her dizzyingly lightheaded as she breathed it in.

His arms wound around her, reaching up to the top of her zipper between her shoulder blades. In one long, smooth movement, he unzipped her shimmery dress and, breathing heavily in her ear, slid it carefully down her body. She stepped out of the ring it formed around her feet, kicked her shoes off, and hooked her fingers in the waistband of his jeans, pulling him closer to lock their lips again.

They stumbled clumsily in the direction of his bed, not caring that they stepped on each other's toes as their urgent anticipation took control. Her knees hit the edge of his mattress and she dropped onto it, crawling backwards eagerly, tugging on his hands for him to join her. He fumbled with the top button of his jeans and collapsed beside her, unzipping his fly at the same time. He wriggled his way out of his jeans as she tugged at them impatiently, and before long, they were carelessly discarded with the rest of his attire.

His kisses were rough now, almost angry with passion. His hands ran down her sides and across the soft skin of her stomach, before continuing down to her hips. He traced the full length of her thigh and back up again to her waist. She ran her fingers up his back and twisted them into his hair, listening for the snap of her bra being unclasped. It took him several tries, but neither of them laughed at the absurdity. With shaking fingers, he slid the straps down her arms and pulled her bra off, moving eagerly to her underwear.

Within moments, they were both utterly bare-skinned. He trailed his hands up her legs from her ankles, all the way to her thighs. She shuddered involuntarily at his touch, suddenly acutely aware of what was about to happen between them. He let his eyes drift over her naked body, and she was suddenly self-conscious. Blushing furiously, she squirmed a little, sitting up – with some difficulty, due to the spinning of her head – and taking control of his mouth with her lips, so as to distract him.

He was easily distracted.

He pushed her back down so their bodies were pressed together, then traced one hand down to her knee, hitching her leg up around his hip. Her skin was so hot against his, and so smooth. It was a sensual feeling, he realised, having someone's body so unobtrusively close to one's own. He rubbed her arms gently with his fingers, wanting to touch as much of her as he possibly could. He traced her angular collarbones, the little bumpy ridges of her arched spine, the gentle curve of her waist, the soft skin of her supple breasts.

They didn't speak again. There was no need for words.

He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her neck, along her collarbones, and when he moved his lips down the flat plane between her breasts, she twisted her fingers in his hair, guiding him down her stomach, which squirmed sensitively as he kissed her ticklish skin. Her breathing shallowed as he dared to venture further, and she pulled his head back up to look in his eyes. It wasn't necessary...

Their gazes locked. She was startled by how unguarded his expression was. His eyes were filled with the unrestrained emotions of what he was feeling; she'd never seen him so exposed, so _vulnerable. _His lips parted slightly as they scrutinised each other's faces, and she wondered vaguely what he was seeing in hers.

He leaned down slowly and pressed his lips gently to hers, shifting his weight slightly above her. Her heart sped up in recognition, and she wrapped both legs around him, permitting him entrance. His lips pressed more firmly against hers, and he slowly pushed inside her. Her heart stopped for a moment and she stopped breathing.

Then something mixed between a sigh and a quiet moan escaped her lips, muffled by his mouth, so that any unsuspecting passers-by outside his room wouldn't have heard a thing.

And then they were moving together, their bodies intertwined, their souls knotted as one.

She couldn't lie to herself, even in her drunken state – she was no stranger to the sexual act, and she warmed to him quickly. It wasn't awkward or painful or clumsy, and she wondered mildly how he managed to be so unexplainably _good _at it. He'd certainly never had a girlfriend – that any of them, including Keiichiro, had known about, anyway – and she highly doubted he practised with the more _sexually willing _females of society. Maybe he was just blessed with the luck of being naturally good in bed.

And, although she was accustomed to it, Ichigo couldn't deny that she'd never quite felt this way when sleeping with Masaya. She listened to their ragged breathing and the quiet moans that mixed together in the air around them, felt her heart swelling and beating rhythmically in her chest, and acknowledged the strength of the connection between them.

Her stomach jerked faintly as she realised with a mild shock that she didn't have anywhere near as close a connection with her boyfriend.

They lay together afterwards, their bodies still entwined, enjoying the companionable silence that had fallen between them. His head was rested on her chest, his ear pressed to her heart, one arm curled possessively around her waist, and she caressed his hair absently, appreciating how soft it was in her fingers.

For some odd reason, the guilt had yet to wash over her. Maybe she wouldn't feel guilty at all... She closed her eyes slowly, wishing the spinning would stop, and listened to the repetitive thumping of her heartbeat in her ears, unaware of the drowsiness washing over her, pulling her towards sleep.

It was what they both wanted, she realised dozily, before she succumbed to the thick haze clouding her mind.

It was such a shame she wouldn't remember it in the morning.

**Fin.**

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**Afterward**

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Some explanatory notes.

In Japan, the big birthday celebration, equivalent to the Australian 18th or the American 21st, is the 20th birthday. Why? Don't ask me, I didn't make the rules. It just is. So, in this fic, it's Ichigo's 20th birthday, which would make Ryou about 23/24. Clearly not illegal for them to be sleeping together.

And her morals, you may point out? Yes, sleeping with Ryou is quite OOC for Ichigo. But she's blind drunk. People do strange, uncharacteristic things when they're drunk. Most of these are highly regrettable; which would be the clear case for Ichigo... if she remembered it. ;)

Thanks for reading!


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